Behaviour Unbecoming of a Ravenclaw
by worldsapart
Summary: Even Ravenclaws can do the unexpected and, sometimes, the unbecoming. Each chapter/short features a different POV Ravenclaw but builds on a single story of the post-Hogwarts lives of the clever 'Claws. Terry/Lisa & various pairings. Will be 14 chapters.
1. Terry Boot

**Behaviour Unbecoming of a Ravenclaw**

**1. Terry Boot**

In which Terry does something impulsive.

He had no idea what he was doing here. It wasn't the first time Terry Boot had walked into this particular building, but it had always been for other reasons. But now the front desk was many steps behind him, past the group of students with their white robes and quills poised over books of parchment, past the lady with the odd green boils on her arms. The administrative offices were farther back into the building, he knew, in the general direction he was walking, but it wasn't until he'd been there for a couple of minutes that he even realised that was where he was going.

She would think he was crazy—that was almost certain. Hell, everyone would think he was crazy, including his best mate and his Mum, the only two people in the world to whom he'd even briefly mentioned this barmy idea of his. But it was hardly even an idea, or even a passing fancy; that was the problem. It was a single sentence in the book of his life so far, albeit one he'd read over several times. Still, he'd not researched it, nor had Terry intended to ever take action.

Yes, everyone would be right—it was crazy.

His feet were still moving, though, and he was so focused on his destination that he nearly ran down a man in hospital robes who seemed oblivious to the fact that his arse was showing. He merely gave Terry a pleasant greeting and wandered farther down the hall, murmuring to himself as he went. Terry briefly considered hunting down someone, because surely this man needed some assistance, but a Mediwitch came running past him only a moment later, calling, "Mr. Morton, please!" in a frantic voice, so he thought it was probably handled.

St. Mungo's was a rather terrifying place sometimes. He'd thought so as a child, when he'd spent many days over the course of several years in the Magical Bugs ward with bout after bout of severe Myringa Septus. Adolescence cured him of most of those childhood fears, but the war had nearly put it right back into him, when the Battle of Hogwarts ended both in Voldemort's defeat and a two-month stint at St. Mungo's for him.

The pain had faded, mostly, but he still had the scars. No, it wasn't even that the pain had faded, but that he'd learned to deal with it over the years. Sometimes it was more intense than he cared to mention, and others he hardly noticed it. And though he wasn't actually scared of it any longer, the hospital still wasn't his favourite place to visit these days. It usually meant either his six-month check-up or that he was having a particular problem, and neither was enjoyable. He was rather used to the place, though. Maybe he was destined to it. Or doomed, as Professor Trelawney probably would have said.

Which only lent itself to the theory that he was crazy. Maybe he should have headed to the Janus Thickey Ward instead.

Running a hand through his hair—it had gotten too long, and if he'd had any idea he'd be coming today, he would have gotten it cut first—Terry strode past a bewildered-looking secretary and straight into the office. Belatedly, he realised he was still wearing his work robes. They were rather casual, but at least it wasn't Friday, when they were allowed to come in their denims and jumpers. He smoothed them down, a bit self-consciously, and cleared his throat.

Healer Cross looked surprised to see him, but she immediately smiled, setting down the text she'd been reading and carefully marking her place. "Terry! Well, it's been awhile, hasn't it?"

"It…has," he said, nodding. He hadn't realised that he was out of breath before. How fast had been walking?

"Would you like to sit down and tell me what brings you here today? You've not been having any problems, have you?" The slightest creases appeared at the corners of her mouth. She was still smiling, trying not to show her concern on her face, but her voice gave her away, like it always did. "Your bi-yearly isn't for another couple of months, but if you're concerned…."

"No, no, I'm fine," Terry said, though he did sit down, taking a moment to catch his breath. He ran his hand through his hair again, really wishing he'd gotten a trim this past weekend. "Great, actually. Nothing more than some minor aches lately. The new potions have helped a lot. Besides, I thought you'd handed my case off to Healer Russell?"

"Well, yes, I have. My new duties are keeping me quite busy. But if you'd needed me…." She trailed off, looking rather befuddled, but she smiled all the same. "Then what can I do for you, Terry? I've run out of guesses, I'm afraid."

"Well, actually, it's your new duties I wanted to talk to you about."

Healer Cross folded her hands on her desk but said nothing, only giving him time to continue. Terry's mouth felt dry, and it was suddenly clear to him exactly how much he hadn't prepared for this moment. It wasn't like him to wander into this conversation, wasn't like him to just leave for his lunch break—from his highly respected, proudly earned position in the Department of International Magical Cooperation, one that he would be crazy to give up—and end up at the hospital with some half-formed idea rolling around in his head. He was a Ravenclaw. He'd gotten five Outstandings on his NEWTs, after they'd finally let the students whose educations had been affected by the war go back and take them. He always calculated his steps, always asked a million questions, always did the research before he ever acted.

He was also, strangely and suddenly, more sure of this than he'd been about anything in a long time.

Terry leaned forward in an almost conspiratorial pose. "Healer Cross, I'd—I'd like to apply to your Healer trainee program. To begin immediately."


	2. Anthony Goldstein

**Behaviour Unbecoming of a Ravenclaw**

**2. Anthony Goldstein**

In which Anthony does something sneaky.

Anthony Goldstein had the worst poker face in all of Ravenclaw, Hogsmeade, and very possibly the world, and he knew it. But that didn't stop him from lying to one of his best mates. It was a simple little white lie, completely harmless, really, but a lie all the same. He'd promised not to say anything, had practically been threatened with incurable hexes if he let it slip—"Again," the others had reprimanded—but then they'd had lunch, and his friend had been right there and asking all these questions…. And so he'd lied.

And Terry had bought it hook, line and sinker.

Healer training was really hard on his friend, Anthony knew, and he knew that the schedule Terry was keeping was likely the only reason he hadn't caught on to the lie. Anthony didn't see what was so worthy of such a secret anyway. It was just a silly party. A "Congratulations! You survived the first quarter!" sort of party, but a silly party nonetheless. But since he'd been the one to ruin the surprise of the original celebration, the one Terry's girlfriend had had planned down to the minute, he'd decided not to baulk at keeping this one quiet.

What he didn't know was why he'd decided—volunteered, even—to help with the damn thing. He hated parties. Not the casual gatherings of friends, where the rowdiest thing that ever happened was one or another of their old school friends having a little too much firewhiskey and spouting off Arthurian poetry for several hours, but the ones filled with people he didn't know or care to know and far more food and alcohol than they could possibly need or afford…those irritated the hell out of him. His mates seemed to enjoy them, though, so he usually stuck around for at least a couple of hours. Sometimes he even had fun. Not often, but sometimes.

Now he had the thankless job of sneaking into Terry's flat. Being self-employed meant he was the only one available, his mates had said, and someone had to tidy up the place while Terry was in training and temporarily transfigure some of the more breakable items for safekeeping. The last thing Anthony would have wanted after a long day of work was for several dozen people to invade his home and fuck around with his things, but that was him, and Terry was typically much more easygoing, so he'd shrugged and agreed. It still felt weird, though.

Anthony thought he would have been much better suited to planning the menu or ordering the invitations. He thought of suggesting it for next time, although he would have rather preferred if he didn't have to be involved at all the next time.

The wards on the flat were pretty tight—the war had been over for quite a few years, but Ravenclaws were nothing if not prepared for anything—but Anthony was one of a few people with automatic permission to come inside them. It was smaller than Terry's old one, but with entry into the St. Mungo's training program had come tuition costs and the loss of a cushy Ministry salary, and so the two bedroom flat had had to go. Anthony liked this one better. It was cosy, reminded him a lot of the place he'd lived just after the war. Even though it was tough to remember sometimes these days, life had been harder then. So many had died, and so many others were hurt. He and his friends had spent many nights huddled up in that tiny flat together, hanging on to the most precious thing they had—each other—as if it might be stolen from them at any moment. For all they knew back then, it might have been.

Anthony sat down on Terry's couch, surveying the room without really paying much attention. The memories were almost too strong for a moment. Was that what this was about? The surprises, the parties, the careful planning, the tears that were shed over the last one gone wrong…was it actually about keeping friends together, about making sure they all knew that the others still cared? He scrunched up his eyebrows. He didn't know all the people at these gatherings, but surely someone did, otherwise they wouldn't be invited. And as much as he hated to admit it, plentiful amounts of alcohol did have a way of starting conversations that might otherwise have lain dormant.

Merlin. For a Ravenclaw he was apparently rather obtuse.

It didn't mean Anthony had to like the parties any better, but he felt like, for the first time, he actually understood the reasoning a little better. He should have known his former housemates wouldn't have followed the pattern without some rationale. Maybe they didn't even consciously know why they had the parties, but it made sense to him now. He still didn't understand why the party had to be here, though. His mate would be tired, and this flat was really a sanctuary of sorts, he figured. He and Terry were different in many ways, but they weren't that different.

He'd volunteered to help out with this bit, but did that mean he had to follow instructions to the letter? Anthony wasn't usually one to bend the rules, but this was for his mate; he didn't mind taking a little heat just this once.

Getting to his feet, he rummaged through the desk until he found a bit of blank parchment, and he jotted a quick note. Terry's owl, Pendragon—named during a particularly spectacular bout of drunken poetry—hooted as if he sensed he would be needed even before Anthony had folded and sealed the paper. He scanned the letter one more time to make sure it was clear that he needed the space tonight, for how many people, and included his Gringott's information, just for the sake of speed, and then sent it off.

He'd meet them outside and tell them the flat was simply too small. That even the usual charms weren't sufficient to make it roomier for the night. A white lie, completely harmless. Surely someone could come up with an excuse to coax Terry elsewhere, and the location he'd chosen was near the hospital. A piece of cake. He just hoped his poker face would come through for him this one more time before his stroke of luck faded. He rather liked his bollocks just where they were, thanks, and he wasn't so sure the threats were in jest.

He decided to just wait for Pendragon to return so he could send a note to them instead—just in case.


	3. Padma Patil

**Behaviour Unbecoming of a Ravenclaw**

**3. Padma Patil**

In which Padma does something irresponsible.

Being one of the few single people at a Ravenclaw party was probably one of the more depressing things in the world.

Padma Patil circled the room, chatting with various people and grabbing new refreshments on every turn, but she was feeling strangely disconnected tonight. There were other singles there, and she knew it, but they weren't her closest mates. Those were all paired up, or nearly so. She was happy about every single one of those relationships and thought most of them would probably even last. Her friends deserved it. But wasn't the problem that she thought she deserved it as well?

The party was supposed to have been at Terry's flat, but Padma was rather glad for the change in venue, even if she almost hadn't heard about it in time. She hadn't been to his new place yet, but if it was anything like the old one, there would be far more there than just seeing couples wandering and chatting. After all, Terry had been in a committed relationship for…how long had it been now? A few years, at least. Since just after he'd gotten out of St. Mungo's the last time. At the flat there would be pictures and mementos and other reminders of just how barren her own room was of such things. Sure, she had pictures of friends, and of her sister and other family, but just how long had it been since she'd even been on a date? Hell, even Anthony had dated since she had, and she'd never understood how girls could look at him and think "kissable."

The bad thing about this particular location, though, compared to a flat, was that there was space to dance. She hated dancing. Not just the coupled-up part, but also the movement itself. It always left her feeling awkward, like she'd never quite learned how to properly control her body. She could still throw up a shield charm as if her daily life depended on it and make aloo gobi with her eyes closed, but somehow she couldn't make her bloody feet move without stomping on her partner's.

Not that she had a partner tonight, so she supposed it was a moot point.

At least Terry looked happy, she thought, allowing herself a smile as she watched him for a moment. Tired, but happy. He'd always been the sticking charm in their group of friends, the person who'd never allow any of them to stray too far without being pulled back. The war had been hard on all of them, but few had sustained the types of injuries he had. When she thought back to the all-night vigils spent in the waiting room at St. Mungo's, waiting for news about him, Padma had a strange sense of things coming full circle. Now he'd be holding together the friends and everyone else in the wizarding world. It was rather poetic. Though she hoped desperately that it wouldn't literally be so—Terry was worse than the rest of them combined when it came to alcohol-induced recitation.

She almost chuckled as she poured herself another glass of red wine, passing the bottle to Anthony when she'd finished with it, because he was lingering nearby and seemed rather bored. He gave her a bit of a strange look, and then replaced it on the beverage table. Padma rolled her eyes but decided she didn't want to let his quirks get to her tonight. Let him drink or not as he wanted—he was here alone tonight, too. She probably didn't actually need another glass herself, but it had been one of those kinds of days.

Watching Anthony out of the corner of her eye for a minute, she wondered why she just couldn't find him attractive, and why he seemed to think the same of her. It would have been perfect, really, if they could have gotten together as easily as others had. Would have made perfect sense. They had loads in common, were both self-sufficient and responsible adults, and Anthony could even be a lot of fun when he wasn't so uptight. They had discussed it once, in a rare moment alone, wondered aloud whether they should just try it out, since it seemed to be what their friends wanted. Despite some reticence, he'd almost gone for the idea.

In the end, though, they'd agreed that they didn't care how perfectly aligned for a relationship they were—it wasn't going to happen.

She needed to go mingle before her close proximity to Anthony raised questions she didn't want to hear again. Her best mate, in particular, would take the piss something fierce if she noticed. But then, her best mate was dating the man of the hour, wasn't she? It was unlikely she'd even look away from him for a few hours.

Sighing, Padma turned away from the drink table and very nearly ran straight into a tall, dark-haired bloke who'd stopped for another pint of ale. Handsome, too. Merlin, she really should watch where she was going. He smiled at her, though, and she glanced down at her glass of wine, thinking she probably had had too much.

"Careful there," he said, his voice as smooth as her favourite chocolate truffle filling. "As much as I would enjoy being bowled over by a beautiful woman, I'm not sure I could vouch for your safety in the matter. And it wouldn't do to accidentally snuff one of Boot's best mates at his party, now would it?"

Padma hadn't recognized him at first, but all it took was a few seconds. He was a Ravenclaw, though a couple of years older, and it had been at least five or six years since she'd seen him. Maybe he'd been at a few parties in between, though she didn't remember paying attention to him. Nor should she have. She knew him more by reputation than by actual acquaintance, and it wasn't the kind of reputation she trusted—more than one friend of hers had been taken in by this wizard's womanising ways, or men like him, and more than one had ended up broken-hearted over it.

Still, she smiled. Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe she was just feeling lonely, but he was an attractive bloke, and he was smiling at her like maybe he saw something about her that he liked as well. "No, I don't think that would be proper at all."

His eyes flicked to the left, but only for a moment. "Would it be proper to ask said best mate for a dance?"

She should have said no, should have known where that look in his eye was leading, but she found it difficult to care tonight. It wasn't just the alcohol dulling her senses, either. She wanted to do something insensible, wanted to prove to herself that her discerning taste wasn't the reason she was still single. Even Anthony had been more open to the idea of dating her than she'd been to opening herself to the possibility. Was it really her? Were her preconceived notions about relationships holding her back?

The dance floor somehow seemed warmer than the rest of the room, though Padma was sure it had something to do with the way his spread hands seemed to cover the entirety of her back, or the way his lips were just a little bit too close to her ear as they told her she was beautiful.

"The most beautiful girl in the room," he said, running one finger down her spine in a way that made her shiver despite the heat.

He wasn't her type, not even close. He'd been a Quidditch player, for Merlin's sake, and he'd probably slept with half the girls in Ravenclaw already. Padma was a responsible sort of woman, and this was exactly the sort of thing against which she'd warned all of her friends. She knew what he was doing—_knew_ it—but yet she let it happen, let herself come under his spell, let herself like the murmurs and soft touches and the way her feet magically seemed to miss stepping on his for the first time in her life. And before the party was even over, she let him take her home.

His home.


	4. Eddie Carmichael

**Behaviour Unbecoming of a Ravenclaw**

**4. Eddie Carmichael**

In which Eddie does something wrong.

There. That should do it. Eddie Carmichael jotted the last line of the memorandum in his neat, careful scroll, signed the bottom, and then folded it evenly before sending it flying off to his boss. Mr. Neal would be particularly pleased at the speed with which he'd delivered the resolution to this particular bit of research, and Eddie couldn't help whistling to himself as he sharpened his quill and then replaced it on the right side of his desk, just next to the inkbottle.

Magical Law was the place for him. He'd known it the minute he stepped into these offices. Hell, he'd known it long before that, when he'd been a boy at Hogwarts, listening to his best mate chatter on about Quidditch and girls and somehow still managing to concentrate on his revisions. His best mate could always spend hours talking about his latest conquests, both on the pitch and in the girls' dormitories—still could, though the pitch had been replaced by an office and the dorms by parties—so it had been an even more amazing feat that Eddie had pulled off the NEWT scores that he did. Not that he'd ever let something like that get in the way of his studies.

The only thing that had come close was the war, and that had been largely out of his control. He was a pureblood and working in an entry level position didn't draw too much attention, thankfully; he still had nightmares sometimes, where Death Eaters came into the office and stole his reports before they could be completed, maybe spilled bottles of ink on them, but they were akin to the "came to class only wearing my pants" dreams he used to have in school, nothing more. Nothing like what some of his mates had seen. He was one of the lucky ones, and he knew it.

All the more reason to do the best damned job he could possibly do. Magical Law was where it all happened, where the changes were made. The politicians could talk all they wanted, make bold statements to garner attention and support, but until this department laid it in stone—sometimes literally—things remained as they were. There was very little room for error, and that suited him very well.

Eddie heard a noise, and he glanced over his shoulder, unaware that anyone else had been working through lunch. "Padma? I thought you were eating with your sister today?"

She only shrugged, and he watched her for a moment, studying her expression and posture. Padma was a quiet sort, and as a fellow Ravenclaw, she was expectedly meticulous about her work. They hadn't been working together long, only since she'd transferred into this office a couple of months previous, but he'd been pleased so far, even enjoyed her company when they'd had time for socialising. Lately, though, she had seemed out of sorts. He'd wondered why that was, as any concerned person might have, but he didn't like to pry.

Now, though, it seemed as if she might need someone. He didn't know what was wrong, but it was definitely something. She had a photograph of some sort, and she tore her eyes off of it only long enough to look up at him for a moment. "She had to cancel," she said belatedly, "because of an assignment."

Ah, yes, that was right. Padma's twin was an Auror, and a damn good one, if Padma's praise was to be believed. She was biased, naturally, but the sister had been a Gryffindor, fought in the war, all that, so if she had half the dedication to her job that Padma did, he wouldn't have been at all surprised at success in that department.

"Who are they?" Eddie asked, gesturing toward the picture as he came to stand next to her. He latched onto it because it was there, and because it wasn't proper to just jump ahead and ask a witch what was troubling her if she didn't offer the information herself. At least, not witches you didn't know well.

"My friends," she said vaguely, tilting the picture so he could see it a little better.

He knew some of them, though certainly not all. He was a year older and had tended to befriend those even older than himself, but they had enough common friends and acquaintances that he'd been invited to a few parties. He had even let his best mate drag him to a couple, and they had been pleasant enough, though not really his idea of a good time. This picture looked like it had been at one of those sorts of events, if the number of occupants waving bottles of beer was an indication.

He recognized Terry Boot, grinning broadly and standing rather still in the centre of the group. Eddie's sister was a Healer, and so he'd run into the bloke a few times when dropping by St. Mungo's for lunch. The girl on his arm looked familiar, but he couldn't remember her name. Padma was to the girl's right, smiling like he'd remembered of her before the sombre weeks. Then there was a clump of witches huddled together and giggling who weren't paying attention to the fact that a picture was being taken and were obscuring several people behind them.

She seemed to take his silence as encouragement to continue, "That's Anthony, and Terry, and L—"

"Oi!" Eddie exclaimed, and then threw her an apologetic glance for the interruption. The gaggle of girls had shifted to one side for a moment, and he caught a glimpse of his best mate seated in the background, paying even less mind to the camera than the witches had been. "Sorry, it's just I remember this party. It was a few weeks ago, yeah? Boot's congratulations party? I got the invitation, but Mr. Neal had me duplicating statements for that big werewolf case. You remember the one?"

Padma nodded, though she was giving him a bit of a strange look. "Yeah, that's the party, and I remember the case. I don't think you left this office except to sleep for weeks."

Eddie chuckled. "You're not far off."

"How did you know this was that party?"

Ah, so that was why she had that odd expression on her face. It wasn't the sort of story he would usually share with a co-worker, but they had mutual friends, even if he didn't know Padma herself very well. She might find the same sort of humour in the tale as he did. He pointed to the photograph. "It's just I remember my best mate said he'd worn this particular shirt to that particular party." He gave her a smile, rolling his eyes a bit. "He calls it his 'bird-pulling' shirt. Only pulls it out when there's someone particularly hard-to-get on his radar. Like a good luck charm or something. I'm not sure why he bothers, really, because it's not as if he means to keep them, but—"

All in one sudden movement, Padma was gone. Eddie was temporarily stunned, unsure what he'd said or done to precipitate the action, if anything. Perhaps she was feeling ill? Should he go check on her? Then he heard the sound coming from the break room. It was faint, but he heard it all the same.

She was crying.

He cringed at the sound, thinking back to what he could have possibly done to upset her. His eyes drifted back down to the photo, and he saw it. Saw at which witch his best mate happened to be staring.

And then Eddie knew that, despite his hatred of making mistakes, he'd just duffed up big time.


	5. Roger Davies

**Behaviour Unbecoming of a Ravenclaw**

**5. Roger Davies**

In which Roger does something conventional.

There was the way things were supposed to work, the way they were supposed to be done, and then there was the way Roger Davies did them. He'd never been content to just read his books and listen in class and take his tests. Why play a nice, clean game of Quidditch when you could play a dirty, messy, chaotic one? Why choose mates who were just like you when there was such a variety of people to choose from?

Sure, he'd been an excellent student, and an even better Quidditch player. He had loads of friends, some of which he'd made in school and others he'd picked up along the way and afterwards. He read the books, did the revision, had even chosen a job that no one expected, as a researcher in the Department of Mysteries. He'd never quite understood why it was so unexpected—having a job that was top secret was bloody exciting, even if the actual research wasn't always—but he loved it, so he didn't care either way.

Roger had kept in touch with his mates. Maybe not in the normal manner, through owls or pre-planned nights at the pub or other such nonsense, but he saw them. More than once he'd just showed up and banged on Eddie's door in the middle of the night. Never on a work night—he was spontaneous, not fucking stupid—but it had never failed to produce a grin on his best mate's face once the surprise and annoyance had worn off. He went to every party he could, even if he was rarely on time. He gave presents on people's birthdays; they were rarely what was expected, rarely wrapped, and almost always induced hugs. This was particularly advantageous if the recipient was a beautiful woman.

He walked to his own beat, and he liked it that way. Not everyone got it, but the important people did, and that was what mattered.

So why the fuck did he feel so uncertain all the sudden?

Roger's eyes flicked back to his best mate, who was sitting across him at a pub table, of all places, and looking rather disgruntled. It wasn't an uncommon expression for Eddie, but it wasn't usually directed at him.

"You could have told me, mate," Eddie said, taking a sip of whatever silly, girly drink he'd chosen that night. "You know I work with her."

"Yeah, yeah," Roger said, waving a hand. "I knew you worked with her, but I didn't know you discussed my personal life with her."

He knew he probably sounded annoyed, but at the moment he didn't care. It was bad enough that he'd had Padma Patil on the brain almost constantly for the last month, but knowing that she was upset—presumably over him—made it that much worse. He didn't get overly involved with witches. Everyone knew that as well as they knew that he was a rabid Catapults fan, or that he'd been the lucky man to take Fleur Delacour to the Yule Ball. She knew it just like anyone else did. It wasn't exactly a secret.

Still, he hadn't intended to get involved with her at all, even in the usual manner. Padma was gorgeous, there was no doubting that; she had this exotic sort of air about her, but she didn't even seem to realise it. Unlike her sister—with whom Roger had intended to get involved, before she'd up and married that Irish bloke—Padma was completely without affectation or pretence. She wasn't innocent, because no one who'd seen and done the things she had during times of war could be considered truly innocent, but she was relatively unharmed, at least. A sane girl from an insane time.

Roger didn't know her well, but they had mutual friends. Boot had been one of the Ravenclaw team's staunchest supporters, despite not playing himself. They'd run into one another at the sports pub a few times since, and at parties, of course. He liked Terry, and he respected him for how he'd handled everything he'd been through. He respected that entire group of friends, even Goldstein, for how they'd stuck together so tightly, even after all these years. It wasn't his style, but it was admirable, better than a lot of people had done. As such, he'd only dared meddle with those birds once before, but that had been years ago, and the girl in question had been more than willing to accept his unspoken terms. Padma, however, had never even made it onto his list. Too much at stake there.

But, Merlin, she'd been gorgeous at that party. He'd tried to stay away, he really had, but then she'd just been right there, and he couldn't help himself. She was soft, and she smelled divine, some strange mixture of herbs and fruits that he hadn't been able to place, even when the scent lingered on his sheets for days after. That had never happened before, to be haunted by a woman like that, but then, it had been longer than a few hours, hadn't it? The party had been on a Friday night, and by the time she left the weekend was nearly gone. It had only seemed like a minute, though, a few seconds even. He'd wanted it to last forever, wanted to beg her to stay, even though he knew she couldn't.

And he hadn't thought about anyone—or anything, really—else in weeks. What was wrong with him?

"All right there, mate?" Eddie asked, shaking him out of his thoughts. His friend gave him a quizzical look, almost smirking at him. "You look like you're actually considering something. Thinking, even. I didn't know that was possible."

"Shut it, you wanker," Roger said, throwing a chip so that it hit his mate square between the eyes. At least he hadn't lost his touch in that arena, despite it having been years since he played anything other than recreational Quidditch.

Was he considering something? What could he possibly be considering? He was a Ravenclaw. He did things by the book, even if it was the book he'd written. To change things now would be ridiculous. He enjoyed his life, his friends, his job, the way things were.

But fuck, he'd enjoyed his time with her, too. And to have her would mean….

He'd leapt out of his chair before he even realised it, tossing a few coins onto the table and leaving Eddie sitting there with a stunned expression on his face. It was okay. They wouldn't have been friends for over a decade if he hadn't learned to live with Roger's oddities, and besides, Roger had somewhere else to be.

He only knew her address because he'd looked it up weeks ago, not even knowing why he was doing it at the time. Now he knew, and he knew what he would do, even if it went against everything he'd ever known about himself. Still, his hand paused a few inches from her door as he raised it to knock. He hated that feeling of hesitation, but he honestly couldn't remember the last time he'd been so fucking scared of anything. During the war, maybe, but that had been a completely different sort of fear. That one was of body, but this?

The door swung open before his knuckles ever touched the wood. Padma's expression was reticent, but at least she didn't immediately shut it in his face again. He thought she looked more beautiful than ever. "What do you want, Roger?"

"I can't stop thinking about you," he blurted. His palms felt sweaty. Merlin, what was he? Twelve? "I know I don't deserve you, but I—I wanted to know…."

The uncertainty he'd sensed in her seemed to have transferred entirely into him. Fuck, how did a pretty witch have him reduced to this? He could have practically any witch he wanted, if he was willing to work for it, but he suddenly couldn't even form a coherent sentence.

He took a deep breath. "I wanted to know if you'd go out with me. As in a date."

Padma looked honestly confused for a moment. It seemed that she knew him and his ways better than he'd thought, because it was the sort of reaction he'd have expected from anyone who'd heard him utter those words. But then the corners of her mouth twitched. Was she going to laugh at him? He felt something fall uncomfortably into the pit of his stomach, and he searched his brain for the right words, for a way to get himself out of this awkward situation. But this wasn't his thing, and he was completely unprepared.

And then she spoke again, and none of that mattered.

"Yes."


	6. Penelope Clearwater

**Behaviour Unbecoming of a Ravenclaw**

**6. Penelope Clearwater**

In which Penelope does something girly.

Really. How many different types of mustard did one person need to choose from? Penelope Clearwater stood in front of the shelf at the market, her mouth gaping slightly. When she'd gotten the recipe for her grandmother's potato salad from her mum, she hadn't counted on the mustard being the most difficult item to buy. Maybe she wouldn't be able to find those red-skinned potatoes, she'd thought, or perhaps the peppers wouldn't be in season—though she didn't actually know if they had a season or not—but she hadn't counted on the mustard. She wasn't sure what difference the brand made, but the recipe was very specific.

Rolling her eyes, she grabbed the Dijon she typically preferred, tired of staring at fifty odd kinds to try and find that particular one. If it didn't work out, well, then she could try a different one next time, and at least she'd have some spare mustard in the icebox. Besides, it was only for a silly "girl's night" to which she still wasn't sure how she'd come to be invited. She'd suspected Eddie might be involved somehow, though. Probably let it slip to Padma that Penny had spent far too many night's lately alone in her flat or at the pub with the blokes.

It had been Padma who extended the invitation anyway. Some of the Ravenclaw girls got together every other month, each brought a dish and they sat around and caught each other up on their lives, would she like to join them? "Sure" had been the answer, but she'd really only accepted because she couldn't come up with a plausible excuse to say no. It wasn't that she didn't enjoy socialising, or that she particularly disliked any of the girls who would be attending. It was just that Penny and other girls didn't seem to…mesh.

She'd never been a tomboy, exactly, but her mum had always said it was something in her manner of speech, something in the way she carried herself. With blokes it was easy: the conversation, the way they dressed, the activities, the food. Girls were more complicated. There were the hair and make-up tips, trying on frilly robes, and gossip about wizards they fancied. She did all right one-on-one, passable, at least, because it was easier to direct the conversation, but groups were something totally different. Large groups of girls were rather terrifying.

Probably no one had ever noticed, as she had learned to fake it, but she still preferred to avoid them altogether.

"What did that mustard ever do to you?"

Penny turned to see Roger standing behind her, arms crossed over his chest, eyebrows slightly raised, and he was laughing at her. He was lucky her hands were full now, and if she hadn't been sure that his Chaser reflexes would have saved him, she might have been tempted to throw the jar at him, even if it meant she was stuck paying for two jars of the stuff. She almost did it anyway, but then her eyes flicked down to the items he was carrying, and it distracted her. Not a single meal-in-a-box sort of item in the whole lot.

"Cooking?" It was her turn to raise an eyebrow.

Roger only grinned. "One month anniversary tomorrow."

Oh, right. Just one more reminder that even the average bloke was better at talking to birds than she was. A month ago she'd never have considered Roger to exactly be an authority either, considering how little actual talking he tended to do with the girls he met, but she no longer even had that excuse. How was it possible that the blokes she knew—Roger now included—could date witches in her age category, and Penny couldn't even make bloody conversation?

She thought Hogwarts should have offered a class in it, except that she would probably have miserably failed that NEWT, and that wouldn't have been acceptable.

"Is it your fault I'm stuck going to this dinner tonight?" Penny asked, shooting him a glare as they headed toward the register. "Or do I have Carmichael to thank for it?"

"Come on, Pen," he said, punching her lightly on the shoulder with his free hand. She hefted the mustard a little bit higher, but once again decided against using it as a weapon. "It can't be that bad. Oh, and it was Eddie. You think I'm stupid?"

No, stupid was agreeing to attend a gathering when you only knew a couple of the people who'd be there, and those people you didn't even know well. Stupid was going to the trouble of making your grandmother's potato salad so that you'd at least have something about which you could talk, if pressed. Stupid was not knowing why you were completely petrified of being alone with a bunch of witches who'd always been perfectly nice to her at school—albeit with the Ravenclaw blokes as a buffer—and had been nice enough to invite her to their party.

Penny wouldn't have called the event a "party" exactly, though, as it was lacking all of the proper elements. She latched onto the thought as soon as her feet crossed the threshold, making familiar examinations to calm her nerves. It was being hosted at someone's flat, but the space wasn't near large enough. The lighting was passable, but not dim enough to create a truly intimate atmosphere. And the food, well, she was sure it would taste just fine, but there was no theme, no continuity whatsoever.

But the energy in the room? Merlin, she'd never encountered such a thing. It was higher, more palpable than in even the best party she'd planned, and she'd put together some intricate, fancy, and high dollar events in nearly a decade in the business. How could six women—seven, if she counted herself—simply walk into a room together and create such magic?

If she could somehow incorporate it into a potion, her business would easily triple, she thought.

"Penelope! It's nice to see you again. I'm so glad you came," said the hostess, taking the dish of potato salad from her and placing it with the rest of the food.

Penny remembered the witch from school, though only vaguely. She thought she was someone's girlfriend. Anthony Goldstein, maybe? No, that was the right year, wrong bloke. Her eyes caught a photograph on a nearby table, and it clicked into her memory. Terry Boot, that was the one. She thought Roger had mentioned something about it, somewhere amidst his endless chatter about Padma. Apparently the group was rather famous for putting on a good party.

She made a mental note to bring up her company sometime during dinner. Business talk would be easy, comfortable.

Comfort was farther away than she'd expected, though. The others were good company, and the conversation hardly faltered for a second, even when she couldn't seem to contribute her fair share. There were serious moments, and there was laughter, and Penny thought Boot's girl might have even teared up a couple of times. No one could accuse them of holding back because she was there, or of trying to exclude her in the least.

And then there was the witch sitting across from her. She was quieter than the others, though it seemed to just be her way rather than any other reason. Her mannerisms were smooth, precise, and when she laughed it was with her whole body, not just her face. She had big, brown eyes and a soft, musical voice, and Penny found her eyes were drawn to that side of the table more often than anywhere else the entire night. She also thought that she would very much like to spend more time with this witch, and that if the other's pink cheeks were any indication, that she might feel the same way about Penny.

And that was an uncomfortable thought indeed.


	7. Lisa Turpin

**Behaviour Unbecoming of a Ravenclaw**

**7. Lisa Turpin**

In which Lisa does something unorthodox.

It was perfect. Lisa Turpin surveyed the room one last time and then sat down on the couch to wait for her boyfriend to come home, confident that she'd planned everything as well as she possibly could have. Tonight was important. Possibly the most important night of her life so far.

She waited as patiently as possible and tried not to dwell.

Terry hadn't been feeling well lately. He hadn't said anything, but she could tell. Most of her evenings were spent with him, more nights spent in his bed than her own, so it was pretty hard to miss. It was the stress of the long hours at the hospital, the time he spent revising at home, the reduction of his visits to friends. He was strong, stronger than anyone she knew, but it was wearing on him, and she was worried.

She'd first noticed it at the party a few months back. It had been a whirlwind sort of night, with the venue changing at the last minute—though Anthony had outdone himself on that one, which boded well for his chances of survival. She and Terry had argued a bit, at first, because he was tired and just wanted to go home and curl up on the couch with her, but he'd ultimately given in. Terry always gave in for her; she hoped she loved him enough to never take advantage of it. She'd felt guilty for hours after, at least until his cheerful grin had finally convinced her he'd needed a night with friends, completely knackered or not.

There had been a definite competition for her attention. Her best mate had spent half the night being groped by Roger-fucking-Davies, despite Lisa's attempt to flag her down. Well, it had turned out well enough, she supposed, though Padma dating a bloke like that was taking some getting used to. And a couple of the girls who'd been in Ravenclaw ahead of her had pulled Lisa off for a chat at one point. Even Anthony had wanted to make party conversation, though she suspected it was partially an attempt to get on her good side again. But she'd been anxious to get back to Terry the whole time, anxious to make sure he was all right, because no one else would know to do it.

Yes, it had been a whirlwind night, and he'd tried to hide that he was in pain, but she'd still noticed.

At first it was just the way his breath was just slightly too shallow, how he covered his shortened sentences by pausing to take a drink or to nuzzle her neck with his nose. Merlin, she loved it when he did that, loved it when they could be surrounded by a room full of people, yet he could still make her feel like he didn't see anyone but her. Alone it wouldn't have been unusual, the shortness of breath, but then she noticed exactly how tightly he was gripping her hand, how he winced ever so slightly whenever he bent to give someone a hug. And the laughing, fuck that had scared her. His best mate had told that joke about the tree, and Terry had literally collapsed in laughter. Only about the first half second had been actual laughing.

That's when Lisa had been sure, and she had expected others to take notice as well, but no one had. Terry was ever so sly about it, tossing out jokes and using his charm to smooth the incident over, and the others were convinced. Well, maybe not his best mate, but he was the sort of bloke who wouldn't bring it up if Terry didn't want him to, and so the partiers went back to their food and their booze, none the wiser.

That night he'd wrapped his arms around her, and she'd cried herself to sleep. He didn't say anything, not even the next morning, but she wasn't as skilled at hiding things as he was, and she knew that he knew.

It had gotten better. Most days she was even able to push down the worry so that it was practically non-existent.

Some of it was the new quarter, which brought a new path of study, different teachers, and a workload that was becoming routine for him. Terry didn't have more time, exactly, but the time he did have was freer, more relaxing. He invited their mates over for spicy Indian food, laughed at their Thursday night program on the wireless, made love to her on every surface he could, and showed very few signs of pain.

A big part of it was finally getting comfortable in his new flat. Lisa had taken an entire day off work just to figure out how in Merlin's name to squeeze his book collection into the tiny alcove between the kitchen and the sitting room. She was pretty sure she'd used more complicated charms—and uttered more non-magical curses—in completing that project than she had in any single job for Gringott's, but it had been worth it to see his face, to watch him settle on the couch with a book and just look content.

She was comfortable there, too, so much so that she'd come close to suggesting they move in together. More than once. The only reason she held back was that she knew he'd say no. Officially moving in would mean letting go of the little flat where she'd lived for so many years. There were a lot of good memories there, but she would give them up for him in a second if it weren't for her parents. Her well-meaning, but extremely overprotective parents, the ones who wouldn't like knowing she'd spent one night with him, much less all of them.

No, if she asked to move in, Terry would tell her she was welcome to spend every night there, that he _wanted_ her there every night, but then he'd remind her about her parents and say that it should remain unofficial. It wouldn't have mattered, would have been fine, except that she thought there might be other reasons behind the refusal. She thought that maybe, just maybe, he was also a little afraid of her having nowhere else to go, should his health ever take a turn for the worst.

She was afraid of that, too, but not for the same reasons he was.

Lisa figured that she really only had one option at this point, one thing that she could do to prove the seriousness of the situation to him. It was unconventional, perhaps, and her parents probably wouldn't approve of her methods, but what they didn't know wouldn't hurt them. Terry could deny it all he wanted, work hard and hide the pain, but it wasn't going to change anything. She loved him so much that some days she thought the war really might have driven her mad after all, because while he was sweet and tender and funny and sexy as hell, he was also stubborn and sometimes utterly infuriated her with how easygoing he could be.

She didn't like to think of this as an intervention, but it was pretty damn close.

Padma had helped a little; or rather, Padma's co-worker Eddie had pulled together some things for her. She didn't know Eddie well, but Padma trusted him, and Terry had talked about him before, had liked him, so Lisa didn't mind letting him in on the plan. It was good information, and she was glad she had a way to get it without marching down to the offices at the Ministry and just asking. As much as she hated keeping anything from Terry, this was definitely one of those things where she did not want a random friend spotting her and casually mentioning it to him.

"So, Terry, I saw your girlfriend down at the Ministry yesterday. I wondered why she'd be down there during the workday, thought maybe she'd decided to cut strings with the goblins or something, but then I saw where she was standing…."

Penny had helped, too, though Lisa was pretty sure the older Ravenclaw hadn't understood why she needed the information. While Penny had never actually come to any of the parties they'd thrown, she was familiar with them by reputation. What Lisa needed was just different enough that she had to ask, just similar enough that it would be tough to figure out. The news Penny brought was good, too, and Lisa added it to her list for later. She wouldn't have to act on any of it yet, but if Terry wanted to see the facts, then she'd have them already prepared.

Fridays were good for them, but holiday weekends were even better. St. Mungo's usually let the students go an hour earlier than normal on Fridays, but the day Lisa had chosen was on the eve of the anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts. Nearly everything in the wizarding world shut down by noon in preparation for celebrations that night and the next day. Those parties were bittersweet at best, and they rarely attended any function on those days, outside of those hosted by close friends. It was an appropriate day for more than one reason.

And so when that day came, Lisa had everything planned out like she always did: Terry's favourite tea steeping in a pot on the table, bangers and mash under a warming charm in the kitchen, the bed made up with those super soft cotton sheets a friend had brought them from Egypt. She'd thought she'd be more nervous, more worried about his reaction, but she was strangely calm up until the moment he opened the door and came into the flat, dropping his bag unceremoniously next to the door. Then he turned around and she saw his face.

He was in pain, and she burst into tears.

"Lisa?" Terry said, immediately coming to her side, pulling her close. If he winced at the movement, she was too distraught to notice this time. "What's wrong, love? What's happened?"

"Nothing. Nothing's happened."

He laughed softly, not at her, she knew, but likely at the familiarity of the situation. He'd smelled the tea and the food by then, and he knew her well enough to know when she'd been making plans and when something had sent them awry. It wasn't the first time. "What can I do? Tell me what I can do, and I'll set it right."

Lisa pulled back so that she could look at him, swiping at her eyes even though she was still crying. This wasn't how she planned it, but she had to continue, had to try. The moment was imperfect, but he smiled down at her and cupped her face with one hand, rubbing the pad of his thumb across her tear-stained cheek, and it gave her hope.

"Marry me, Terry," she said, so softly that she wasn't even sure the words had come out at all.

It was obvious from the expression on his face that he hadn't been expecting that. Not one bit. "Lisa, I—"

She placed a finger to his lips before he could finish. If she didn't get everything out all at once, she was in danger of losing her nerve, and that wouldn't be good for either of them. "I know this isn't how it's supposed to go, but I also know that you think I deserve more. That you're afraid you won't be able to take care of me, or that I'll end up having to take care of you, or worse." She drew in a deep breath, trying to will the shakiness from her voice. "And I want you to know that I don't care about all those things. I love you. So much. And I don't care if I get five years or fifty. I just know that I don't want anything else—"

This time he silenced her, not with a finger, but with a kiss. His lips were soft, as always, and she knew she could forget the world under his touch if she let herself. What did it matter if they were married or not, if she had some stupid flat she never used and no ring on her finger to make it official? She had him, and she knew she would always have him. That's what mattered, wasn't it?

Her arms looped around his neck, and one of Terry's hands pressed gently at the small of her back, urging her closer, while the other dug into her hair. Lisa's lips parted, and she gave herself to the sensations, gave herself to _him_, body and soul. When she did finally pull away, quite awhile later, it was only because they were both sated and gasping for breath.

He raised up on one elbow, smoothing her hair back from her face and giving her a crooked smile. "In case you haven't figured it out yet, that was an 'I love you, too' and a 'yes.'"


	8. Mandy Brocklehurst

**Behaviour Unbecoming of a Ravenclaw**

**8. Mandy Brocklehurst**

In which Mandy does something spiteful.

This wasn't happening.

Mandy Brocklehurst took a few steps back, peering once again into the store window she'd just passed. Normally she wouldn't have even given Madam Malkin's a second look; the quality of the robes was decent, she supposed, and they'd been good enough for school robes, but otherwise they always looked about ten years behind in fashion. She didn't insist on having the most recent styles as soon as they hit the stores; it took a certain amount of confidence in one's appearance to wear last season's styles and look good doing it. But she did at least like to be in the right decade. Malkin's was definitely not vintage. Besides, she preferred to make her own clothing anyway.

It wasn't a robe that caught her attention this time, though. She'd only stopped for a moment, using her reflection in the window to fix a piece of hair that had fallen into her eyes, when she happened to look through the glass. She'd started walking again, not even really paying attention. But then she realised what she was looking at.

Lisa was inside, and she was wearing wedding robes that would have made Mandy vomit—Merlin, she wasn't going to get married in _that_, was she?—but then her friend's parents were pretty traditional, so it probably couldn't be helped. Padma and another of their friends were in there as well, adjusting the robes for Lisa and grinning and pointing. Mandy wondered briefly why she hadn't been invited to the little shopping trip, but she knew that her work schedule was more complicated than the others'. It wasn't every day that she was actually walking around Diagon Alley during the normal lunchtime rush, so while she would have liked to be invited anyway, she could understand.

But she didn't understand why the other two were wearing bridesmaid's robes and she wasn't.

Padma would be the maid of honour, that was to be expected, but the other? Mandy gritted her teeth, trying not to stare but unable to pull her eyes away. Surely she was a closer friend to Lisa than _her_. And either way, why couldn't it have been the three of them?

There was a little café across the street, and Mandy took a seat. It was cool and rainy, but she sat outdoors anyway, sipping tea and alternating between staring at the robe shop and staring at the liquid in her cup. She supposed she should be used to it by now, this feeling of being left behind, left out, but it never failed to disappoint her every time. It always happened, but Mandy had been unable to resolve herself to it. Was it so bad that she tried to hope? To hope that one day she would be the one who finally came out on top?

It had started with the war. She knew it, had gotten years of counselling for it, for fuck's sake. Seeing Su and Kevin die…well, Terry wasn't the only one who'd had issues after the war, though everyone flocked around him like he was. For a long time she'd wished she could follow behind her best mate and her boyfriend, wished that they hadn't left her behind on whatever next adventure they were now tackling.

But things had gotten better. She'd started spending time with Lisa and Padma and Terry and Anthony and a whole flock of other Ravenclaws she hadn't even known in school. Just a few weeks ago she'd had dinner with yet another of them—Penelope had been her name, she remembered—who'd been talking about introducing her to some friend of hers named Eddie with whom Mandy would apparently get on well. Even Padma had agreed that this bloke would be her type.

The only thing Mandy and Padma had ever had in common when it came to guys was an unspoken agreement that Roger Davies was probably the fittest bloke to ever grace the Ravenclaw house. Mandy had gotten there first, for once, but she hadn't been able to hold onto that small victory for long.

She didn't actually want Roger. It had been years ago, and sleeping with him had just been something to pass the time, something to get her mind off of Kevin for another few hours. But she wouldn't have minded if _he_ had wanted _her_. If anyone had wanted her, but especially a seemingly untouchable bloke like Roger. It was just her luck that shy, sweet Padma managed to nab him without any work whatsoever.

Luck, fate, doom—Mandy wasn't sure what she should call it, but it was definitely one of those, or all of the above. Her life was a series of events she couldn't control, of things that happened to her or around her, and that inevitably ended with her holing up in her flat for weeks at a time and flooing her Mind Healer at two in the morning. Unlike those first couple of years, she'd not tried anything drastic; these days trying to kill herself seemed like more of a bother than an escape. After all, who knew if the other side would be any better? At least here she had days of numbness mixed in with some relatively good times. She had friends, some of them pretty close friends, and she'd thought that was enough.

But watching Lisa and the other two trying on robes together, laughing and primping and bring girly…it was too much. She was sick of this. So fucking sick of it. Sick of waiting and wanting and missing. Sick of feeling like she wasn't in charge of her own life.

Her tea was long gone, and the small sandwich she'd bought lay in the plate in front of her, still untouched. She lifted the edge of the bread, but her stomach was knotted up too much to actually eat now. She needed to do something, to do anything. It wouldn't take much, wouldn't be anything big, but she knew it would make her feel better.

What she wanted to do was rip those bridesmaids robes into shreds, but she couldn't do that to Lisa.

There was something else, though. She knew a little bit about robes and other clothing. Not a lot, as she was still just an apprentice designer, but enough that a small adjustment would be possible. There would be at least one more fitting before the wedding, so this was perfect. A good joke, that was all, but this time the joke would be on someone else.

After the other girls left, she went quietly into the store, and, while the clerk had her back turned, touched her wand to the dresses, mumbling a few words under her breath.


End file.
